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by VesperCat



Series: Timothée Chalamet/Amrie Hammer fics [2]
Category: Armie Hammer - Fandom, Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF, Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Timothée Chalamet - Fandom
Genre: Call Me By Your Name adjacent, Fluff, M/M, One Shot, That Jersey, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:02:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22422283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VesperCat/pseuds/VesperCat
Summary: Armie carefully pushes each of the 19 gold coloured buttons through the embroidered loops.
Relationships: Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer
Series: Timothée Chalamet/Amrie Hammer fics [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1272542
Comments: 13
Kudos: 37





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**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the friends who read, made suggestions and changes.

“Hey, there you are,” Armie grins, finding Timothée leaning against a stone balcony with a glass resting next to an overflowing flower pot.

Timothée looks over his shoulder, “Yeah, needed a break from the press... people, in general... contemplating,”

“Contemplating what exactly?” Armie asks, swaggering up to him and leaning a hip against the balcony.

Timothée huffs a laugh, smiling to himself then taking a swing from his drink.

“Best not said?”

“Something like that,”

Timothée looks up knowing that he and Armie thought of the same phrase.

“Don't say it. No, please, don't say it,” Timothée pleads although his smile reappears.

Armie smiles, placing his own glass on the stone balcony and launches a tickle attack on the unsuspecting younger man.

Timothée tries to squirm and wiggle away from the bigger man, body twisting and curling with Armie’s body following after. The giggling and laughter of both parties stop as they realise their predicament. Armie’s hands are wrapped around the slender waist and Timothée’s buttons are uncomfortably pressing against Armie’s front.

“Is it better to speak or die?” Armie whispers, the brown curls tickling his face. 

“Don't tempt me like that if you're not going to follow through,”

“You don't know me then,” Armie remarks, voice an octave or two lower.

“I would like to,” Timothée confesses, feeling relieved and suddenly tired.

Timothée flinches when someone inside the venue laughs loudly, pushing himself away from Armie under the guise to get back to his drink again.

Armie turns towards the direction the laugh was heard from, discreetly draws the flimsy curtain before closing the glass panel door as well and pauses to observe the reflection on the small glass panel.

Armie gently places a hand on Timothée’s lower back when he returns, thumb stroking the space between two buttons and slips the digit under the flap to stroke bare skin underneath.

“Tell me if I need to stop,” Armie encouraged before pulling the hand away to replace it with both hands.

Armie carefully pushes each of the 19 gold coloured buttons through the embroidered loops. Revealing the distinctive red and white grosgrain ribbon with the prominent spine peaking through the two halves of the jersey.

Timothée’s body shivers a little upon feeling the cool air on his skin but it gets replaced by the heat of Armie’s large hands brush against the bare skin as he keeps unbuttoning the jersey.

He doesn't pry the soft material away until he's all the way up to the collar of the navy jersey. Instead he slowly snakes his hands into the warm cavern between the Merino wool and smooth skin to wrap around the slim waist. 

Timothée’s breath hitches, head lolling back onto the broad shoulders. A hand clutches on to a half filled glass and the other lets go of the cold stone balcony to place itself on Armie’s neck, fingers tentatively stroking the short hair at the nape.

“Where ever do you get these creations from anyway?” Armie murmurs, stroking over the prominent hip bones.

“They just get sent my way–” Timothée tries to answer, stopping the movement with a hand over Armie’s covered forearms, “the ones I don't like I give to friends and family,”

“Oh, how thoughtful,” Armie muses, resuming the stroking when the smaller hand returns to his neck.

“What if somebody sees us?”

“Only if you drop your glass,” Armie points out, making Timothée instinctively grip the glass tighter, knuckles turning white, “maybe I should button you up again, go back to the hotel and figure this out,”

“Mmh, in a minute,”


End file.
